


Speaking of Calamities

by RarePairFairy



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Attempted Dwarf Parenting, Baby Bilbo, Evil Child, Kidfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 04:52:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RarePairFairy/pseuds/RarePairFairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if, contrary to popular belief, hobbit babies are more feral than dwarf babies? How would the dwarves react to the tiny cute raging shitstorm that is bby!Bilbo?</p><p>Un-betad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speaking of Calamities

Gandalf blamed Radagast. Radagast denied all responsibility. The dwarves, for once, didn’t care who was to blame. They just really, really wanted their burglar back.

Not because they were overly fond of Bilbo, though truth be told, that was a part of it. Bofur and Balin at least had liked Bilbo from the start. The others, and especially Thorin, had begun to see his value since the confrontation with Azog. Bilbo’s genuinely selfless intentions and his good heart were a part of it, but any dwarf worth his salt knew a brave soul when they saw it.

But mainly, their desire to have Bilbo back it was the stress of coping with the creature they had to babysit in the meantime.

There were similarities here and there. There was something recognizable in his face, now small with a button nose and rosy cheeks, and the colour of his hair and eyes. A curious glint in those wide eyes, though that curiosity now seemed to have been blown all out of proportion, and it was all any of them could do to stop him from speeding off into the underbrush in search of flowers or butterflies or, to Thorin’s intense consternation, elves.

Little Bilbo was much smaller than the average dwarf child, but twice as fast. His head was only just above knee-level to most of the dwarves, but if Balin leaned down only a little, Bilbo would grab his beard and scramble up to stand on the dwarf’s shoulders, and if the company were walking close enough together he would leap from one pair of shoulders to the other faster than he could be caught. Gandalf put a stop to that after Bilbo launched himself from the back of Dwalin’s head, rebounded off Kili’s left ear (leaving it ringing for several minutes) and landed in the crook of Thorin’s elbow, before being promptly dropped.

Being wrapped in the copious outer folds of Gandalf’s cloak as punishment seemed to disagree with Little Bilbo. He found other ways to misbehave after that.

For all his older counterpart’s unhappiness about endless travel on foot, Little Bilbo appeared to have endless resources of energy and spent it all running ahead of the group, looping back around to circle the company, kicking Thorin’s shins in passing because he was “being a big old slowpoke” and running up the road ahead again, only coming back when Gandalf threatened to throw him in a sack and carry him the rest of the way.

The effect of his cuteness wore off entirely after several hours of this. After that first long day’s constant scurrying, Bilbo, apparently having exhausted himself, flopped face-first onto a patch of grass and fell asleep immediately.

Those dwarves who were not enormously relieved, were concerned.

‘Is it normal for him to fall asleep just like that?’ Ori asked, twiddling his fingers anxiously as Little Bilbo lay sprawled on the grass with his thumb in his mouth.

‘After several hours running non-stop, I should hope so,’ Gandalf said. He was still mildly amused, and rather chuffed at being the only individual so far who had managed to control Little Bilbo to any degree.

Others had tried. Dori had attempted to use his comb to untangle Bilbo’s hair during a rest stop in a glade, and Bilbo had responded by scrubbing his hands over his head the moment Dori let him go, until his hair was just as messy as it had been when Dori caught him. Fili and Kili could make Little Bilbo laugh, but they couldn’t make him do anything else. Bombur had been used once as a trampoline and refused to speak to Little Bilbo after that.

Thorin had told Bilbo to stop running and walk with everyone else. Bilbo demanded that Thorin kneel down to talk to him because “I can’t talk to you when you’re all the way up there.” Thorin, needless to say, refused to kneel. Bilbo, needless to say, refused to walk.

Bilbo awoke from his nap when Bombur started making dinner. He shambled to his feet, shook his little head, then his little shoulders, then his little middle and then each furry foot, like a duck fluffing its feathers. Then he yawned. Then, he sneezed so hard he fell flat on his bum.

Dori, who had been watching Little Bilbo on and off since he had transformed, chuckled and cooed. So did Nori, Gandalf and Gloin. ‘Charming little creature, really. When he isn’t pulling my beard,’ Balin said with a mix of fondness and mild exasperation.

Bilbo wandered over to Bombur, looking up inquisitively and tugging at the edge of his clothes.

‘Eggy?’ he piped up, still mildly sleepy.

‘No eggs to be had, lad,’ Bofur said, smiling apologetically when Bilbo turned to look at him.

‘Eggy,’ Bilbo insisted firmly.

‘There are no eggs,’ Bofur said, just as firmly. ‘And even if there were, we’d have eaten them all while you were conked out on the grass.’

Little Bilbo did not respond to taunting, no matter how mild, quite as patiently as Grownup Bilbo did. Wrinkling his nose, Little Bilbo marched right up to Bofur. Bofur turned his smile it into a faux-serious frown.

‘Upset with me, lad? Well that just won’t do,’ Bofur said jovially. Bilbo took a small jump so he was perched on one of Bofur’s boots. Then he leapt up so he was standing on one of Bofur’s knees.

Then he tore the hat right off Bofur’s head, somersaulted backward off his legs, landed on the grass and dashed off, a powerful little pair of legs under a hat that completely covered his head and shoulders.

The rest of the company burst into laughter as Bofur stood and went in pursuit of his hat-with-legs. Thorin watched in a leafy corner by himself, trying not to show his amusement.

Dinner was done by the time Bofur caught Bilbo. It was probably only dinner that made Bilbo slow down at all, given how eagerly he sat and slurped down his share (the same size as his adult self’s share of dinner, at Gandalf’s pointed advice). Face half-covered in stew, Bilbo tottered back up to the pot, which was too high for him to reach. He turned to face the nearest dwarf, who in this case was Dwalin.

‘More?’

It was nearly painful to see. Deeply irritating as he was, they all knew more or less now how much and how often hobbits were used to eating. This child did not have the reason or self-control of his adult self, to know or accept that there wasn’t any more food tonight.

‘No more, little lad,’ Dwalin said, trying to sound firm and sensible. Bilbo cocked his head to the side, then held up his bowl, as if Dwalin hadn’t understood the question properly.

‘More din.’

‘No more dinner. That’s it for tonight.’

Bilbo lowered the bowl. He stared up at Dwalin with big, sad eyes. The company, for a moment, felt their heart go out to the poor little hobbit.

Just for a moment.

Bilbo threw the bowl with all his might, which was a lot of might as it turned out, straight at Dwalin’s nose. Oin managed to catch Bilbo before he could careen around the glade in a screaming fit, holding him fast around the middle as he kicked and flailed and shrieked. Everyone else blocked their ears and groaned and growled. Gandalf approached, but a particularly vicious swipe of his little paws made him hesitate.

Gloin was next to step up to the plate, fed up and matter-of-fact. ‘Hand him over to me,’ Gloin said briskly. ‘He can’t be any worse than my Gimli on a bad day.’

Moments later, Gloin was nursing badly scratched hands, and Bilbo was still making a racket. Fili and Kili were torn between looking stricken and giggling ridiculously, as Dwalin held a hissing and spitting Bilbo at arm’s length by the back of his shirt.

‘Are you sure you didn’t turn him into a stray cat? Or a ferret?’ Gloin tried to roar, but his eyes were “watering” (Oin said this was as close to tears Gloin had been since the birth of his son) and his voice came out slightly strangled.

‘I’m afraid this is simply what hobbits are like before they have the manners of polite society drummed into them,’ Gandalf said.

Bilbo managed to catch hold of one of Dwalin’s thumbs, and Dwalin quickly transferred him from one hand to the other. Bilbo blew a violent raspberry and spun around, grabbing Dwalin’s other thumb and climbing up onto his wrist. Dwalin tried to shake him off, with no success.

With an air of finality that quieted much of the grumbling of the company, Thorin emerged from his seat in the shadows. He shrugged off his coat as he sidled over to Dwalin, who was being savagely bitten by a sincerely distraught little fauntling. Spreading out his coat under the wriggling creature, Thorin quickly swept it up and gathered the corners above Dwalin’s wrist. He then wrapped the bundle in his arms and tugged sharply, freeing Dwalin’s arm, which came away covered in angry little red bite- and scratch-marks. Squawks came from the bundle, and it developed lumps all over as Little Bilbo thrashed about inside.

A collective sigh of tired relief rippled through the company. Fili and Kili looked between themselves, then to Thorin. Then they turned to Balin.

‘Did he ever have to do that to us?’ Kili asked. Balin shook his head, eyebrows still slightly raised.

The lump in Thorin’s coat squealed and wiggled hysterically for nearly an hour before settling down. By that point, Thorin was sitting on a rock and firmly held the bundle to his chest, and had allowed a gap at the top just large enough to allow Bilbo to breath, but not large enough for him to stick more than an arm through. Even so, by the time Bilbo settled down, Thorin’s braids had been badly tugged.

‘It was just a temper tantrum,’ Thorin said simply, as Dwalin glared at the coat from across the glade, glancing down every now and again to inspect his red-striped hands and compare them with Gloin’s.

‘I’ve never seen a temper tantrum quite as ferocious as that,’ Gloin grunted. ‘I’ve seen fits of insanity that weren’t as terrible.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ Gandalf said calmly, having apparently conveniently forgotten the terror Bilbo had been before he resigned himself to being trapped in Thorin’s coat. Gandalf kept his eyes more or less on Thorin, who treated the situation wisely as if Bilbo was biding his time, only glancing down into the gap every now and again to make sure Bilbo was still alive.

The sunlight had considerably dimmed and the fire was now the only real source of illumination. Thorin peered, then narrowed his eyes for a moment. He bowed his head and leaned in closer, unable for once to discern anything of Bilbo’s shape through the dark gap in his coat.

Suddenly, a hairy little foot struck out of the hole and landed square on Thorin’s chin. There was a dull “click” as Thorin’s teeth were driven together by the force of it.

The dull murmur of conversation ended immediately, as everyone realize what they had just seen.

Bilbo had _kicked_ Thorin. _In the face_. _Little_ Bilbo, who seemed to have little idea who any of them were, let alone their king. But it had been a kick to the face, nonetheless.

A single, solitary giggle broke the heavy silence. Then it continued, high and victorious, and it was a split second before anyone realized that the sound was coming from Thorin’s coat. Thorin had loosened his grip on the coat for a moment in shock, and the gap grew big enough for Bilbo to stick his head through, shaking it rapidly to get his hair out of his eyes.

Little Bilbo looked up at a stormy-faced Thorin, bright-eyed, pink-cheeked and still giggling. The company waited with baited breath.

Balin, Bofur and many of the others hoped fervently that Thorin wouldn’t hold it against him. The two of them had just begun to get along so well, after all. And it wasn’t really Little Bilbo’s fault, being such an insufferable pest. Grownup Bilbo wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing, and if he remembered any of this when they got him back, they all knew he’d be mortified.

A small number of others, mainly Dwalin and Gloin, were hoping Thorin would find it in his anger to discipline the child. If any child needed a good hard smack to set them straight, apparently it was Bilbo.

Before any of them could really make up their minds about what they wanted Thorin to do, Bilbo got his shoulders and arms free and reached up to Thorin’s face. Thorin flinched away, and Bilbo followed, grabbing a braid and a clump of hair in each tiny hand. Thorin stilled, just close enough for Bilbo to reach up …

… and plant a kiss on his chin.

The silence turned awkward. Someone coughed.

‘Sorry,’ Bilbo said cheerfully. At Thorin’s continued silence, bewildered now rather than angry, Little Bilbo prodded his chin with a tiny finger.

‘Kisses make it better,’ he explained. ‘Mama said so.’

Thorin’s face, to everyone’s sincere surprise, softened immediately. It occurred to them then, as Gandalf watched closely, that Bilbo had never spoken of his parents.

They knew his parents were dead, but nothing beyond that. Gandalf had briefly mentioned Bilbo’s mother being an adventuress when Bilbo was trying to explain the reputation of the Tooks to Bofur, but Bilbo, as a rule, never talked about his family. He’d join in conversations about home, about favourite stories or songs or flowers, but he never joined in conversations about close relations. And hobbits were meant to be sociable creatures.

They wondered, as they watched Little Bilbo play with Thorin’s braids, how lonely he might have been before joining them on their adventure. They wondered if he was ever lonely as a child.

That night, as they dropped off one by one, Bofur played a ditty on his flute, smiling as Little Bilbo danced and skipped around his feet. Gloin and Dwalin, though they kept their faces as stern and grim as they could, let Bilbo climb up onto their laps and kiss their hands, nodding solemnly as he declared in his high child-like voice, “Kisses make the hurts go away.” Fili and Kili stayed up a little later than usual to tell Bilbo nonsense tales, making the stories up as they went, competing for Bilbo’s smiles.

When Bilbo started to sway in his seat, mewling “I’m not sleepy. I’m _not_ ,’ Thorin approached, slipped off his blue coat, and gently swaddled Bilbo up in it. Bilbo settled easily into Thorin’s arms, still squeaking weakly in half-hearted protest, and fell asleep as soon as Thorin sat down, cradling the bundle close to his chest.


End file.
